Page 61 of Wild Abandon

Taking a chair from another table, he pulls it up beside me and just flashes a grin. I return it and go back to listening to the music. It would be a little hard to talk with the music so loud, so I just sit back and enjoy the show.

When Laurie comes over, I hear Brent order a cognac. When she leaves, he leans back and slides his arm on the back of my chair. When she returns with the drink, he takes it with his free hand and leans forward to watch the show as intently as I am.

The band takes a set break, and the jukebox music comes on, making it easier to have a conversation.

Brent rolls the sleeves of his cashmere sweater up his tan forearms. “This is the kind of music you like?”

I nod. “What do you think?”

“They’re good. Different but good.” He looks down at my drink on the table. “Not a wine girl.”

With a closed-mouth smile on my face, I look up at him and shake my head.

“What’s a beer-drinking girl who listens to bluegrass doing in Napa all by herself?” His eyes twinkle and crease.

I lift the glass to my lips, take a sip, and then ask, “What’s a winemaker from Sonoma doing at a pub in Napa all by himself?”

Brent leans in close, a lot closer than I am ready for. His nose is inches from mine, and I can smell the heady cologne pouring off his skin. I swallow back, unsure of exactly what I want him to do.

Before I can back away, he ever so lightly brushes his lips across my cheek and whispers into my ear, “Looking for the perfect girl to sit next to.”

I bow my head and blush at the flattering yet cheesy comment. Running my hands through my hair, I sit back and give myself some needed distance from Rico Suave.

The band comes back from their break, and we sit back and listen to them. Brent’s seat is getting closer and closer to mine, his arm inching in further around the back of my chair. At one point, his other hand finds my knee and uses it as a mini drum.

When the set is over, we order our third round of drinks and do some much-needed get-to-know-you talking.

Raised on his family vineyard, Brent always knew he would someday run the estate. He went to private school and then went to Europe for four years to study in Tuscany and Bordeaux. He skis and spends most weekends at his house in Tahoe and holidays in the Alps, which happens to be where he met the Swedish ex-wife. He loves animals but doesn’t have any. He enjoys sports but doesn’t have a favorite team. He’s a patron of the San Francisco Symphony. He drives a Tesla. He is on the board of a food-share program with local farms. And he still hopes to one day start a family.

He’s like Bruce Wayne—part-mogul, part do-gooder.

He is cultured, driven, sophisticated.

He is everything I’ve ever wanted.

Therefore, he is intimidating.

I tell him I grew up in Manhattan. He’s been there many times. Brent brings up other possible places I could make a living, aside from weddings and small vineyards. I ask if he drinks wine, other than what’s from his estate. The answer in no.

We have been here for about two hours, and I am starting to feel the night coming to a close. I’m happy I drove myself here. I’ve had a really nice night, but I’m not ready to endure the awkward can-I-drive-you-home moment and the do-we-kiss-or-do-we-not-kiss exchange that would occur when he dropped me off.

“I have to be up early tomorrow,” I say even though it’s a lie.

Placing his hand over mine, Brent brushes his fingers along my wrist. “I’d like to see you again. What are your plans next week?”

I have none, but I can’t tell him that. “I’m working.” I pause, feeling myself trying to brush him off. I change my tone. “I’m available on Thursday.”

Brent raises my hand to his lips and places a soft open-mouthed kiss on the skin of my knuckles. “I shall see you on Thursday.” He raises his arm to Laurie, signaling that he’d like to close out his tab.

I look toward the bar where Laurie is standing, and I see Nate next to her, looking over at us. That’s surprising. He was here and didn’t do one thing to interrupt my date in any way. I don’t know if I should be disappointed or take that as a sign that he thinks Brent is a good catch.

“Are you okay to drive?” Brent is getting up from his seat, keys in hand.

I nod my head even though I am suddenly not in the mood to leave just yet.

“I’ll walk you out.” Brent places his arm on the small of my back and escorts me out the front door and to my car parked on the street.

We do the awkward dance good night. He leans in and tells me what a good time he had. I lean back while saying the same thing. He places a hand on my arm and says he looks forward to seeing me again. I turn my cheek and say I look forward to it, too. Lips hit cheeks, and then he says good-bye with a smile that masks his disappointment. I get in my car, turn the car on, and watch him walk away through the side view mirror.